"It is quite possible to leave your home for a walk in the early morning air and return a different person - beguiled, enchanted."
~ Mary Ellen Chase
We enjoy the whistling wind as we walk,
The cool morning breeze calms and charms us,
A peacock is perched on a peepal tree,
Its fine feathers flowing fascinatingly,
Its sound of squawking seems sophisticated,
Like mystical music to its magnificent mate;
The butterscotch-orange ball blooms in the blue,
A snake slithers silently in the sewer nearby,
Songbirds tweet tantalizingly in the tall trees,
Vehicles plying on the highway are a vision to view,
Blushing bougainvilleas have blossomed in bunches,
Numerous neem trees line the narrow footpath,
A squirrel squeezes through a small, square hole,
And we uncover God's wonders as He unveils a new day.
Flammable I’m nor dry tinder,
Scare me nor threaten of lightning,
Past autumn and chilly winter,
I look forward to the next spring.
I’m already left with few leaves,
Let worst of autumn’s fall arrive,
Go not by my dry woody frame,
The tree in me is all alive.
What if covered I’m with this frost,
Just around the corner is sun,
I see life well past all this change,
Every season to me is fun.
A meditating sage, no arid stem,
You had better go not by my lean frame.
__________________________
Sonnet |01. 04.2025| tree, Nature, autumn, spring
Note: Many trees in India experience autumn and spring more than once a year. I watched two Peepal trees and one Neem in front of my house shedding leaves in just a few days and again acquiring them equally fast-- from a skeleton wooden frame to a tree with shimmering tender, light-coloured leaves in sun. A tree is always alive, full of life, no matter how it might appear. Looking at it and marvelling of its love of life, to an aging old man, in no mean envy, this sonnet happened.
uncountable stars
sit so scented on neem tree -
bitter white flowers
An old neem tree
sentinel stands
in my frontyard
fresh healing air
green sunlit shade
bitter year-round
Pinnate gloss leaves
inflorescences
hundreds of flowers
fragrant crisp white
appear at once
sure it is April
Quantum Superposition
”A particle can exist in multiple states or places simultaneously until measured.”
we know now that light is
both a particle and a wave
as ethereal vibrations
omnipresent in enigmatic space
both the light of the sun
as also the light that lights the sun
let us look at bilocation
demonstrated by many a saint
to name a few ~ Padre Pio, Ananamayi Ma,
Jesus, Sri Yukteshwar Giri, Neem Karoli Baba …
why then is our consciousness limited
containerised by mind and senses five
when it is vividly clear and self-evident
that our true Self is absolute
who dwells in the potent pause
of polarity interchange
at each half-breath and betwixt heartbeats
or between two thought trains
where lies fulcrum of awareness
is it in the head, the heart or in the void
allowing pristine silence to engulf stillness
truth of the noumena is known
beheld in plain sight as flickers in space
being both immanent and transcendent
As a young four- to five-year-old child,
My wish to meet ghosts grew eerie and wild.
We lived a mile from a riverbed’s shore,
Where tales of witches and spirits galore,
Roamed through the night in the darkness, compiled.
By day, vultures circled in the sky,
Snatching at food, as they swooped low and high.
I heard they sometimes took children away,
But the fear of ghosts at night held more sway,
The thought of their presence made me ask why.
On full moon nights, tales would come alive,
Ghosts on palm trees when the clock struck five.
I stayed awake, my eyes wide with dread,
Saw moonlit figures with drinks overhead,
A toddy beer fest where spirits would thrive.
Still curious, I watched the mirror late,
Hoping to glimpse a ghostly figure's fate.
For months I waited till sleep took its toll,
Then shrieked one night as fear grabbed my soul,
I fainted, convinced by what I did state.
When I awoke, I told them my fright,
I’d seen the ghost appear in the night.
By morning the mirror was taken away,
With neem and salt for ghosts in dismay—
Yet, deep in my heart, the fear still took flight.
Sighs of susurration sunder the silence ~
The neem tree swaying in the wind
An old lady yapping like a non-stop chatterbox
The roar of the road hero's motorcycle revving past
And a radio playing romantic songs nearby
An occasional vendor selling village vegetables
The honking horn of the ice-cream man
Children running by after a busy school day
Household hens clucking to announce their presence
Crickets croon in crazy chorus
Then, there's the train whistling past thrice a day ~
Soulful sounds sweeten the symphony
"Seize the day, then let it go" - Marty Rubin.
I capture the first chirp of the bird in admiration.
My heart merges with it. My hands fold in adoration.
The color-changing beams of the morning sun, like prisms, spread
Varnished Verses from my heart, like waterfalls, flow ahead.
The mist dip mesmerizes. The clement breeze caresses.
The untimely rain cools. Thunder, as though throat-blocked, hisses.
Amidst decomposing mango-neem-jack leaves, banyans sprout.
Amidst the sun’s hide-and-seek, shades shred their tinges throughout.
Each bloom tells me tales. Each bee and fly mimes a moral.
Thoughts, words, and deeds, like meadows, seem flowerily aural.
I see soul in each grain. Each drop of water brims with life.
Doesn't here, between good and evil, creep a constant strife?
Like lilies of the field and birds of the air, I feel free.
Why, about an imaginary act, should I worry?
Each split second of an hour has a universe within.
I know that failing to feel this fact within is a sin.
They were vibrant women,
whose voices vibrated in the vicinity.
Their squabbles were X-rated.
Profanity pirouetted nude in their expressions.
They fought for the rights,
though with obscene tongues.
Their ways were bitter
but beneficial like neem.
Even their glances could burn away
some virulent teen trends.
They were spunky,
kept snakehead-vigil on their surroundings.
For livelihood,
they gathered black oysters resembling them.
There were precious harvest songs
in their mind-albums.
As the sea,
they too had a serene face.
Their romance wasn’t a red rose blooming,
but a buffalo ploughing the field,
leaving behind clods of ecstasy.
They caned and scolded their children,
who grew strong in mind and body.
Now noxious things thrive
in the silence left by them.
First published in Native Skin, and then reprinted in The Literary Hatchet
Chinnu, the chipmunk got a gift, a corn,
from her best friend, Hugo, the hippo.
She planned to eat the tasty corn soon,
and meet Hugo the next afternoon
to give him a large pear that she’d stored
in her burrow near the neem tree.
An idea sparked in Chinnu’s brain then.
She thought, ‘Why can’t I give Hugo right now
his return gift?’ - but did not know how.
It was late evening and getting dark,
still, she hurried and leapt across the park
and looked for Hugo here and there.
Nowhere to find him, she felt very sad
and sat near the swamp, feeling so bad.
“Hello my friend”, there came a voice
from behind. Chinnu turned back to find
her friend right there and felt so glad.
She gave the pear to Hugo, the hippo.
He gulped it at once and said with a smile
“what a yummy treat I got to eat!”
Date: 03/10/2023
Kids Creativity And Learning Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Rhymes checked in RhymeZone.
From the infinity of the hidden windows the cuckoo cooing ushering the morning through the darkness
Feroz has just set fire to the oven, and his brief body cloth he stretches to cover his ears and face
There is still a chill in the wind. Baby leaves are yet to deck up the bare skin of Neem trees
The oven is lending heat to the two street children
The birds' chorus seems never-ending
Flames glisten in the elliptical eyes of the children
In the cotton trees, the flowers have just begun reddening
The glow of the flame tinges the sharp face of Feroz
In the two eyes sits the expanse of struggle
From a distance, wafts a smell of rose
Sounds of sips from the teacups in a circle
Suddenly there was a commotion a few houses away
Ambulance
The quiet of the morning has gone haywire
Profuse tears and loud screaming, a flea in the tea
Nadir or zenith, you are beside me
___________________________________________
24 February 2023
Veggies cut at swirled shapes,
Meat which could meet the fire of hunger,
Spices which could feast hearts
Could combine to create culinary power.
Fruits cut at random slices,
Sugar bought from the sweetest lands,
Can mix and grind to overcome the crisis
Of the earthlings' favour for juicy clans.
Neem leaves received from the tresses of nature
Blend with herbs to curate stories of natural cure;
Bitter but carves better lives
For sweeter cells and sugary bites.
Any taste
Without any haste;
Sprinkle the heaven-driven blessings
To baptise humanity with foods of blessed names.
I
Last week, funeral
You heard Nature reviled here
But Neem Tree gave life
II
This week, two new pets
Chicken Little, who comes in nights --
Angel, power-lady dog, outside
She wrote Bits N Bots
A terrific, prescient poem
I suffer bots, bots, ads, and data thieves
(We all might be the last)
But she came with bouquet of words
To the funeral of my tree
There were only four attending:
My wife, myself, one neighbor, & Linda
Social media, life, friends keep us busy
I understand
Not everyone can come to
Unusual
Funerals
Still ... do think of our environment
Always
I
Fifty years ago - I was about ten -
My grandfather wept for a tree:
Blue Spruce, one in the township ...
I empathized, but didn't understand
II
This morning, in 40-hour rain,
I wept for my three-year Neem ...
Boys got over my fence at night,
To dispossess the whole environment -
So they have slings to hunt birds
III
I talked calmly about time and tree:
They empathize - but don't understand
Lesson: I remind myself, Jesus allowed the "crime" so I a cept. Therapists talk about 5-minute funerals, grieving, over some issues. I tried; won in 25 hours, LOL! My wife & I already planted new saplings. Hallelujah. Shalom shalOm
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